The Scarlet Letter

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Modern Text

“Ah!—aha!—I conceive you,” said the stranger, with a bitter smile. “So learned
a man as you speak of should have learned this too in his books. And who, by
your favor, Sir, may be the father of yonder babe—it is some three or four
months old, I should judge—which Mistress Prynne is holding in her
arms?”

“Ah! Aha! I understand you,” said the stranger with a bitter smile. “A man as
wise as you say he was should have learned of that danger in his books. And who,
beg your pardon, sir, is the father of the young child—some three of four months
old, it seems—that Mistress Prynne is holding in her arms?”

“Of a truth friend, that matter remaineth a riddle; and the Daniel who shall
expound it is yet a-wanting,” answered the townsman. “Madam Hester absolutely
refuseth to speak, and the magistrates have laid their heads together in vain.
Peradventure the guilty one stands looking on at this sad spectacle, unknown of
man, and forgetting that God sees him.”

Daniel who can
solve it has not been found,” answered the townsman. “Madame Hester absolutely
refuses to speak, and the magistrates have put their heads together in vain.
Perhaps the guilty man stands here in the crowd, observing this sad spectacle,
and forgetting that God sees him when no one else does.”

“The learned man,” observed the stranger, with another smile, “should come
himself to look into the mystery.”

“That wise scholar,” observed the stranger with another smile, “should come
here to look into the mystery.”

“It behooves him well, if he be still in life,” responded the townsman. “Now,
good Sir, our Massachusetts magistracy, bethinking themselves that this woman is
youthful and fair, and doubtless was strongly tempted to her fall;—and that,
moreover, as is most likely, her husband may be at the bottom of the sea;—they
have not been bold to put in force the extremity of our righteous law against
her. The penalty thereof is death. But, in their great mercy and tenderness of
heart, they have doomed Mistress Prynne to stand only a space of three hours on
the platform of the pillory, and then and thereafter, for the remainder of her
natural life, to wear a mark of shame upon her bosom.”

“It would serve him well, if he is still alive,” responded the townsman. “Now,
good sir, our Massachusetts magistrates realize that this woman is young and
pretty and was surely tempted to her sin. What’s more, her husband probably died
at sea. So they have not punished her with death, as they very well might have.
In their great mercy, they have sentenced her to stand for a mere three hours on
the platform of the pillory and then to wear a mark of shame on her bosom for
the rest of her life.”

“A wise sentence!” remarked the stranger, gravely bowing his head. “Thus she
will be a living sermon against sin, until the ignominious letter be engraved
upon her tombstone. It irks me, nevertheless, that the partner of her iniquity
should not, at least, stand on the scaffold by her side. But he will be
known!—he will be known!—he will be known!”

“A wise sentence,” the stranger said, solemnly bowing his head. “She will be
like a living sermon against sin, until the shameful letter is engraved on her
tombstone. Yet it bothers me that her partner in wickedness does not stand
beside her on the platform. But he will be known. He will be known! He will be
known!”

He bowed courteously to the communicative townsman, and, whispering a few
words to his Indian attendant, they both made their way through the
crowd.

He bowed politely to the informative townsman and whispered a few words to his
Indian companion. Then they made their way through the crowd.

While this passed, Hester Prynne had been standing on her pedestal, still with
a fixed gaze towards the stranger; so fixed a gaze, that, at moments of intense
absorption, all other objects in the visible world seemed to vanish, leaving
only him and her. Such an interview, perhaps, would have been more terrible than
even to meet him as she now did, with the hot, midday sun burning down upon her
face, and lighting up its shame; with the scarlet token of infamy on her breast;
with the sin-born infant in her arms; with a whole people, drawn forth as to a
festival, staring at the features that should have been seen only in the quiet
gleam of the fireside, in the happy shadow of a home, or beneath a matronly
veil, at church. Dreadful as it was, she was conscious of a shelter in the
presence of these thousand witnesses. It was better to stand thus, with so many
betwixt him and her, than to greet him, face to face, they two alone. She fled
for refuge, as it were, to the public exposure, and dreaded the moment when its
protection should be withdrawn from her. Involved in these thoughts, she
scarcely heard a voice behind her, until it had repeated her name more than
once, in a loud and solemn tone, audible to the whole multitude.

While this was going on, Hester Prynne stood on her platform, eyes still fixed
upon the stranger. She stared so intently that sometimes the rest of the world
seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of them. Perhaps such a private interview
would have been even more terrible than the encounter they were having now: the
noonday sun burning her face and illuminating its shame; the scarlet letter on
her breast; the child, conceived in sin, resting in her arms; the crowd,
assembled as though for a festival, staring at her features, which would have
otherwise only been visible in the intimacy of the fireside, in the quiet of her
home, or beneath a veil at church. As terrible as it was, she felt that these
thousand witnesses were sheltering her. It was better to stand before all of
them than to meet this stranger alone and face-to-face. She took refuge in her
public exposure and dreaded the moment when its protection would be taken from
her. Absorbed in these thoughts, she barely heard the voice behind her until it
had repeated her name more than once, in a loud and serious tone that the whole
crowd could hear.

“Hearken unto me, Hester Prynne!” said the voice.

“Hear me, Hester Prynne!” said the voice.

It has already been noticed, that directly over the platform on which Hester
Prynne stood was a kind of balcony, or open gallery, appended to the
meeting-house. It was the place whence proclamations were wont to be made,
amidst an assemblage of the magistracy, with all the ceremonial that attended
such public observances in those days. Here, to witness the scene which we are
describing, sat Governor Bellingham himself, with four sergeants about his
chair, bearing halberds, as a guard of honor. He wore a dark feather in his hat,
a border of embroidery on his cloak, and a black velvet tunic beneath; a
gentleman advanced in years, and with a hard experience written in his wrinkles.
He was not ill fitted to be the head and representative of a community, which
owed its origin and progress, and its present state of development, not to the
impulses of youth, but to the stern and tempered energies of manhood, and the
sombre sagacity of age; accomplishing so much, precisely because it imagined and
hoped so little. The other eminent characters, by whom the chief ruler was
surrounded, were distinguished by a dignity of mien, belonging to a period when
the forms of authority were felt to possess the sacredness of divine
institutions. They were, doubtless, good men, just, and sage. But, out of the
whole human family, it would not have been easy to select the same number of
wise and virtuous persons, who should be less capable of sitting in judgment on
an erring woman’s heart, and disentangling its mesh of good and evil, than the
sages of rigid aspect towards whom Hester Prynne now turned her face. She seemed
conscious, indeed, that whatever sympathy she might expect lay in the larger and
warmer heart of the multitude; for, as she lifted her eyes towards the balcony,
the unhappy woman grew pale and trembled.

As mentioned earlier, attached to the meeting house was a sort of balcony that
hung directly over the platform on which Hester Prynne stood. Proclamations were
often made to the assembled magistrates from this balcony, with all the ceremony
that was common in those days. Here, to witness the scene, sat Governor
Bellingham himself, with four sergeants beside him as a guard of honor.
Bellingham wore a dark feather in his hat, an embroidered border on his cloak,
and a black velvet shirt underneath. He was an older gentleman, with the
wrinkles of hard-won experience. He was well suited to lead a community founded
not with the impulses of youth but rather on the controlled energies of manhood
and the sober wisdom of age. This was a community that had accomplished so much
because it imagined and hoped for so little. The prominent men who surrounded
the governor were distinguished by the dignity with which they carried
themselves. Their attitude was fitting for a time when worldly authority was
considered as holy as religious office. These were certainly good men, fair and
wise. But it would have been hard to find wise and fair men who were less
qualified to sit in judgment on the heart of a fallen woman, and distinguish the
good from the evil there. It was to these men that Hester now turned her face.
She seemed to know that any sympathy she might hope for would have to come from
the crowd rather than these men. As she lifted her eyes toward the balcony, the
unhappy woman grew pale and trembled.